“Chef!”

Erik Barstow looked up from prepping for tonight’s opening to see his headwaiter burst through the door.

“What do you need?” he asked, keeping his head down while he diced the onions for the miniature, spiced-meat pies.

“I just heard The Chronicle is sending over a reviewer tonight. Are we really ready, I mean, The Chronicle . . .”

“Tonight?” He cut off the torrent of words and stopped chopping long enough to consider this news. The Chronicle was the major paper in town, and its reviewers were traditionally harsh. A good review could really boost his struggling reputation, but a bad one - he didn’t want to even consider that possibility.

Glancing up, he noticed he was still being watched. “What?” he shouted. “Do I pay you to stand around?  Go shine the flatware.”

“Uh, I did that already.”

“Do it again!” Erik nearly screamed. His hands were shaking as he watched his employee scurry out the door.

“A little help in here,” he shouted as he wiped off his knife. As he opened his mouth to yell again, his sous chef sprinted into the main kitchen and stood at attention. “Get the rest of this prepped. Something’s come up.”